“Jack, don’t!” Garrison shouted.
Fuck the evidence! Fuck the investigation! Let them suspend him! This was the only thing that mattered in his life. This was Caroline! He wanted her alive! “Christ!” he begged. He pried her mouth open, gasping out loud to find her tongue intact and no blue dye. He shoved his fingers inside her mouth looking for blockage—anything— tears streaming down his cheeks. She let out a shuddering breath and he pulled her into his arms. “Thank God!” he cried.
He peered up at Patterson, and realized how deadly wrong his gut had been. The instincts he normally trusted had steered him completely adrift. Caroline had been so sure Patterson was guilty and Jack had fought her every step of the way. He was through fighting.
“I’ll make sure you fry,” he swore, as they cuffed Patterson and read him his rights.
He heard shrill female screams, and was vaguely aware of the frenzied shouts at his back. Then Augusta was suddenly at his side, looking down at Caroline, tears spilling over her cheeks. Augusta gave an audible gasp when she saw Caroline blink. “Oh, thank God!” she said. “Caroline!”
They led Patterson away as two officers came and tried to pull Augusta off. She reared back and smacked one of them upside the head with her palm. “Get the hell away from me,” she spat. “This is my sister!”
Caroline blinked again, her eyes fluttering open. “Are we having a bonfire?” she asked weakly, peering up at Augusta in a heavy stupor.
“Looks like you tried to have one without us!” Augusta exclaimed, choking on a sob. “But you set the wrong damned house on fire!”
Caroline gave her a feeble smile and Jack choked on his own relief and laughter. He glanced back to see that they were still restraining Savannah, her eyes wide and fearful. He gave the man holding her a nod and he let her go.
Savannah rushed to their side, falling to her knees beside Caroline. “Oh my God, Caroline!”
Augusta turned to stare at Patterson’s back, watching as they pushed him into a squad car. He turned to look at her only once before getting in, piercing her with a clear blue glare, and she swallowed hard. “I was so wrong,” she said softly, as she stared into the wrathful eyes that peered back at her from inside the car.
In that instant, though she didn’t believe in angels or demons, Augusta thought she understood what it must have been like the moment when Lucifer became Satan.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I
t was over.
They found a wetsuit in Patterson’s trunk, along with a “hit bag” containing a roll of the same tape used to cover the victims’ mouths, rope, a vial of blue food coloring and a bloody knife and rag. The rag would be tested to see if it matched Kelly’s or Amy Jones’s blood type and DNA. Although none of the evidence at the scene was linkable through DNA, they had discovered a twisted clump of plastic that at one time had been a cell phone. According to forensics, some SIM cards had been known to survive extreme temperatures and although the data couldn’t be accessed simply, it was still retrievable. They believed the phone belonged to Augusta and that Patterson had used it to lure Caroline to the scene.
A search of Patterson’s house produced Jones’s missing camera. It was full of the photos she had been snapping the night she died—mostly the lighthouse and marsh, but there were a few photos that had been taken during the time he was preparing Jones, and a few close-ups of her face while she died—a gruesome sequence of shots that highlighted her terror and finally the instant of her death.
They also found a small box with a tongue piercing in it, and they learned belatedly that Amy Jones had had a tongue piercing—something they had missed during the investigation—something Amy’s roommate couldn’t have known to tell them because they’d never fully disclosed the details of her friend’s mutilation and death. It was just a matter of time before they matched the DNA.
They discovered a number of other paraphernalia, including a little girl’s notebook full of drawings of crying flowers and houses on fire. Scribbled on the inside cover in black was a parent’s clear print of the word Amanda, along with a page full of a child’s attempt to copy it in red crayon.
The area around the ruins had been searched thoroughly, but except for the recent fire, the landscape appeared untouched. Pam’s body was not recovered. Neither was Amanda Hutto’s. But with so much evidence, there was no question of Patterson’s guilt. Caroline never saw her attacker. But it didn’t matter. They had Patterson dead to rights and it didn’t make any difference whether he refused to talk or that the anger in his eyes could have started a new blaze to rival the one they’d put out.
Right now, there was only one thing Jack’s gut was telling him. He had the chance to build a life with Caroline, and whatever it took to make that happen, he was in for the long haul. After fourteen years on the force, he was considering retiring. His instincts had been all wrong and he had broken too many rules, undermined his own sense of self and nearly lost Caroline in the process.
Patterson was behind bars. No thanks to Jack. Even if he died without revealing the whereabouts of the other bodies, at least he would never hurt another innocent girl. That was enough for now. And sooner or later, the truth would come out . . . if anyone was listening.
Jack walked into the little mom-and-pop jewelry shop a friend of his had opened and recently sold, and went straight for the counter, where a young girl stood staring at him expectantly.
“What can I help you with, sir?”
“I need an engagement ring,” he said simply, pulling out an antique, hand-carved platinum setting with three missing stones and placing it reverently on the counter. It had once belonged to his grandmother. Caroline had given it back ten years ago and Jack had pried the diamonds out and pawned them, though he kept the ring itself, unable to part with the only heirloom he had from his family. He barely recalled his grandmother after all these years, but she was the only positive thing he remembered about his childhood. He hadn’t connected with another living soul to that degree until Caroline. It was only fitting Caroline should have it, but there was no way he could give it to her as it was. “It needs something different,” he said, “something that shows how much I’ve waited for this each of the last ten years of my life . . . but something that says we’re on a new path.”
The girl smiled. “What color are her eyes?”
“Hazel, with bright flecks of green.”
“How about an emerald?” she suggested. “With diamonds for the heart motifs?”
“Perfect,” he said.
Jack had
insisted
Caroline meet him at the Dive Inn.
It made absolutely no sense to her—not after he’d hovered over her for more than a week, treating her like an invalid, and insisting she stay home and recover properly. In fact, he had remained with her at Oyster Point to make sure of it, barely leaving her side. She’d had to argue vehemently that she was ready to return to work this morning and now he suddenly seemed to have forgotten all of his solicitousness, making her go out of her way after a long day at the office to meet him in a public place.
She tried without any luck to call Savannah and Augusta to let them know she would be missing dinner, but neither answered her phone.
Not that she was annoyed or anything.
She really wanted to see Jack—in fact, she really wanted him all to herself, but maybe he needed to do something normal after the chaos of the past few months. He just seemed so adamant she
had
to come before dark and he had hounded her to leave work
right now,
hanging up only after she jangled her keys into the receiver—and now, like her sisters, he wasn’t even answering his phone.
She drove toward Folly Beach, trying not to speed, windows down, reveling in the cool evening breeze. It would do her good to get out and relax for the evening, she told herself.
A flash of bright, neon red caught her attention and her gaze skidded toward the beached boat that sat on the side of Folly Beach Road. It had been there for decades, painted and repainted with graffiti. It was impossible to miss the current message. It utilized every inch of possible space. In enormous bright red letters, it said: M
ARRY
ME
, C
AROLINE.
Caroline blinked as she passed the sign, her heart leaping into her throat. Butterflies took flight in her belly. She was already at the corner of East Ashley before she remembered to breathe.
Marry me, Caroline.
Could it be?
As long as she could recall, the defunct boat had been used to herald birth announcements, graduation notices and shout engagement declarations—or pretty much anything else people wished to proclaim.
Her head spun with thoughts of their first engagement and she frowned over the memory of their breakup—all the wasted years. If he asked her again, she would hold on to what they had until her dying breath and never take it for granted again.
She loved him. How she had lived without him for ten long years Caroline had no idea.
She turned the corner to find Jack standing outside the Dive Inn. He was grinning broadly, waiting for her, and Caroline found herself smiling too, euphoria building inside her.
Marry me, Caroline.
She pulled in, swung into a parking space, parking haphazardly, and bolted out of her car. “Jack!” she exclaimed.
He was still grinning. There was a distinct twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
She stopped and turned toward the direction she’d come, feeling awkward suddenly, second-guessing herself. She pointed. “Did you?”
“Will you?” he interrupted and fell to one knee, producing a small red box from behind his back.
Tears sprang to Caroline’s eyes and she lurched toward him, scarcely aware that her feet were moving. She fell to her knees in front of him. “Oh, Jack!”
“Marry me, Caroline,” he whispered.
They knelt there in the gravel together, pebbles digging into their knees, facing each other, and Caroline could care less that suddenly it seemed the parking lot was filling with an audience. Folks spilled from the tiny pub out into the graveled parking lot. She didn’t bother to look up. At the moment, she only saw Jack—the love in his eyes, the hope and genuine sincerity etched on his handsome face—that face she wanted to wake up to every morning for the rest of her life.
“I love you,” he swore. “I want every last person in this town to know it!”
Caroline couldn’t find her voice to speak.
“Caroline . . . I promise never to leave you wondering—never to let you down. I swear to God I will always put you first in my heart and in my life!”
Caroline threw her arms around his neck, kissing his lobe. “Yes, Jack!” she whispered fervently. Tears squeezed past her closed lids and her heart felt as though it would explode in her chest.
Jack pulled away long enough to open the box in his hand and Caroline opened her eyes to spy the loveliest ring she had ever laid eyes upon. Set in his grandmother’s filigreed silver was an enormous emerald flanked by two heart motifs filled with diamonds.
Caroline’s hands shook as he removed the ring from the box. He held her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. Suddenly the parking lot exploded with cheers.
Caroline belatedly looked up, swiping tears from her eyes to spy both her sisters standing arm in arm at the front of the crowd. That would explain why they weren’t answering the phone. Frank was there too—the sneak!—along with Daniel and George. Sadie was weeping inconsolably as she clutched her son’s arm for support.
“Yes,” she said again, and smiled.
For the first time in her life she felt connected, not just to the love of her life, but to her family as well—to this place. This time, she knew she was home to stay.
Epilogue
I
t was impossible not to admire the old typewriter, with its shiny gold keys and polished walnut base. Savannah literally stared at it for hours without even touching it, trying to figure out how to start.
Apparently, their mother had used it until shortly before her death. That’s why it was still in pristine condition and explained the perfectly oiled carriage and the recently inked spool. How it ended up in the attic, Sadie claimed not to know. Spotting it on her mother’s desk, Sadie remarked on it, wondering why Savannah had brought it down from the attic if she wasn’t going to actually use it.
Savannah’s cast was off and there was no use avoiding the typewriter forever. Augusta was right: she had to get something down on paper—anything, even if it was crap.
Augusta was mired in preparations for the upcoming auction while Caroline was mired in preparations for an upcoming wedding—her own. After ten long years, she and Jack were finally going to say I do and it was a long overdue happily ever after for both of them.
Funny how sometimes it took loss or coming close to losing something precious to highlight what mattered most in life.
Rummaging through her mother’s desk in search of paper, Savannah discovered a ream of sheets in the bottom drawer, next to a pewter letter opener shaped like a Confederate bayonet. Lucky day, she thought, but once the paper was loaded, she simply stared at the white sheet rolled into the typewriter.
Maybe if she hit a single key and made an impression . . . like the first note of a song, it might propel her into writing more. Frustrated, she hit the F key, and then stared at the heavy impression it made. Crisp. Black. Beautiful.
The sight of the single letter made her inordinately happy, but as she stared at the sheet of paper, she realized there was another impression etched on it. She rolled it out of the typewriter and turned it under the desk light, trying to read the ghost of her mother’s scribble.
She could make out a few words, like “will” and “codicil.”
Curious, she set the paper down and went searching for a pencil, determined to find out what secrets the paper held. Maybe a little third-grade sleuthing would reveal her mother’s words. Finally, she found a pencil buried in the middle drawer—not an old-fashioned number two—the mechanical type. But it would work fine, she thought. The impression on the paper was deep enough.
Positioning the paper on the desk, she began to rub the pencil lightly over the indentations on the page, and slowly, the words began to appear....
I, Florence W. Aldridge, of James Island, declare this to be a first codicil to my Last Will and Testament dated May first two-thousand-fourteen.
Blinking, Savannah stared at the words behind the careful shading of pencil, hesitating, her heart beating a little faster. Whatever this was . . . it had been written only a few days before Flo’s death. These were truly her mother’s last words. With trembling hands, she continued,. . .
Item I: I will and direct that item V of my said Last Will and Testament be cancelled in its entirety.
What was cancelled? She didn’t remember what item V was. She would have to go look at her copy of the original will. Heart beating erratically, she continued running the fine lead over the page.
Item II: I will and direct that the following shall be item V of my Last Will and Testament.
Savannah took a deep breath, wondering if she really wanted to know what it said. Had her mother changed her mind about sequestering her daughters under the same roof? Had she disowned them? No matter how difficult it had been in the beginning, Savannah needed this communion with her sisters. Even Caroline and Augusta seemed better off for it. She didn’t want to go back to D.C. She needed this year with her sisters . . . the money itself didn’t matter.
With a little trepidation, she continued....
I will and direct that the property bordered by Secessionville Creek from the byroad to Fort Lamar Road, and consisting of the original living quarters of Oyster Point Plantation, as well as the bordering marshlands, shall hereby be donated to the County of Charleston.
Mouth open, she continued scribbling down to the bottom of the page where her mother’s strong signature appeared finally through the pencil shading.
Her breath caught as she realized what she was holding. Florence had changed her mind. She meant to hand the landmark over to the city. Augusta would be thrilled. Sadie would be ousted, although Flo had apparently added a generous stipend to make up for the loss of her home.
Why hadn’t the new codicil turned up in the will?
Jesus, she might not ever have discovered this if she hadn’t brought the typewriter down from the attic....
Savannah held the paper in her hands, staring at it.
Was this really what her mother had intended? If she handed this over to Daniel, a signed ghost of a document, would Sadie legally still own the land?
In the end, Savannah was obligated by her mother’s wishes. She had to hand it over.
All you can do,
she told herself
, is start out with the best motives....